


Whispers of You

by theonetryingtolive



Category: Hacksaw Ridge (2016)
Genre: Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:21:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24698254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonetryingtolive/pseuds/theonetryingtolive
Summary: “Smitty, right?” You asked, tossing the butt of your cigarette to the ground.“Yes,” he said, feeling like an idiot.
Relationships: Smitty Ryker/Reader
Kudos: 5





	Whispers of You

When they’re told they will all be going back up the ridge, Smitty feels a strange fear settle in the pit of his stomach. This is new to him, it’s a fear that he hasn’t encountered before because it’s not at all about himself. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t shitting his pants as they climbed up the ridge, but the mere idea of watching you climb those damned ropes made him jittery like nothing else ever could. It hadn’t always been this way, in fact, the first time he’d only ever started to consider the dangers of going up the ridge was after he met you.

You had been stationed in that land of hell for much longer than he had, and you had the type of smile that made a man grow weak in the knees. The sort of smile that made Smitty Ryker want to drop to the ground in supplication merely for the possibility of a kiss being bestowed upon him. He hadn’t said anything, he was not a foolish man, after all. Smitty had learnt early in life not to say anything about the way he felt, or the things he kept close to his heart. Speaking only put everything in danger. Speaking was dangerous, and the primeval urge to fall to your feet he’d experienced after seeing you for the first time had only confirmed this belief.

It wasn’t that he never planned on speaking to you, or on spending inordinate amounts of time in your presence. On the contrary, he was convinced that the only way he could ever survive this damn war was if he did it by your side. However, he was all too aware of his own faults, his own flawed ideas of what it meant to be a soldier. He wasn’t open like Desmond, he was hard stone edges cutting palms open like the very ridge you were preparing to conquer. Smitty swallowed back a wave of fear, and wondered if there existed a god, and if it did, would asking for protection of the only good thing left in this cursed place work? He didn’t know, and was afraid it was too late to ask.

You were standing by his side, smoking one last cigarette before the climb, and Smitty wanted to tear away at the ropes, wanted to do everything to prevent your climb. And yet he knew that if he did, if he by some miracle managed to keep you down where it was safe, you would never forgive him. He could tell, just by the way you eyed him when he took a ragged breath. You knew what he was thinking. Or at the very least knew that he was thinking of insane, impossible things.

“Smitty, right?” You asked, tossing the butt of your cigarette to the ground.

“Yes,” he said, feeling like an idiot.

“How ‘bout we make it through today and then we can have some dirty water coffee?” You gave him a half-smile as you lit another cigarette. Another last cigarette, he thought numbly.

“Yeah,” he replied in a low voice, accepting the lighter you passed him. “Yeah, that’ll work.”

“I got your back,” you said, and Smithson nodded, now feeling invincible with the goddess of war climbing next to him, draping her cloak around him.

“I know,” he whispered to your back as you climbed higher and higher, the promise of a coffee burning like fire in his veins.


End file.
